Michael and Sarah Walker

Even obvious lies, when repeated enough, start to feel true. This is known as the illusory truth effect. The more often we hear something — even if it's absurd — the more familiar and comfortable it feels.

I used to feel proud on this day. Now I mostly feel determined. Determined not to let the loudest, angriest voices define what this country becomes. Determined not to let indifference win. Determined to say something while it still matters to say it.

As time passed, I kept wondering: what happens if we impeach the Putz?

And I’ll admit, I was hesitant to see the Vice President take over. Why?

Because he doesn’t stand for America. He sold his soul to the devil to get his foot in the door.

In essence, a fact-checker's loyalty is to the truth, wherever it may lead. For someone simply seeking to support their own views, their loyalty lies with their pre-existing beliefs.

Donald Trump’s threat to sue The Wall Street Journal if it published an article linking him to Jeffrey Epstein isn’t just a blustering headline — it’s an attempt to preemptively kill reporting that may be factual, inconvenient, or worse: undeniable. Whether or not the story sees daylight, the chilling effect already spreads.

I grew up believing truth had power. That facts could stand on their own — maybe bruised in the headlines, maybe doubted in the moment — but ultimately stronger than lies. And when the truth got too hard to face, we had satire. A comedian could say what a politician couldn’t. Laughter was a lifeline — not just for humor, but for honesty.

Barack Obama didn’t come from money or power. He came from organizing neighborhoods, teaching the Constitution, and believing deeply in what ordinary people could do together. And though he made history in the White House, his legacy—along with Michelle's—has only grown since he left it.

Before the White House: A Foundation of Service

Barack Obama began his career not in politics, but on the streets of Chicago’s South Side. With a Columbia degree in hand, he became a community organizer, helping struggling residents fight for jobs, housing, and opportunity. It wasn’t glamorous—but it was real.

Later, he graduated from Harvard Law School and became the first Black president of the Harvard Law Review. But instead of chasing prestige, he returned to Chicago—working as a civil rights attorney and teaching constitutional law at the University of Chicago.

He didn’t seek the spotlight. He sought impact. That ethic followed him through the Illinois State Senate and into the U.S. Senate, where he gained national attention with a single line:

Supreme Commander, Allied Expeditionary Force (SCAEF): This was Eisenhower's most famous and consequential title, which he held from late 1943 until the end of the war in Europe. In this capacity, he was the supreme commander of all Allied forces in the European Theater of Operations. He was responsible for planning and executing Operation Overlord, the Allied invasion of Normandy on D-Day, June 6, 1944, and the subsequent campaign to defeat Nazi Germany.

After the war, Bush attended Yale and moved to Texas to build a life from scratch in the oil industry. He co-founded Zapata Offshore, achieving financial success quietly, without the bravado or headlines. His wealth wasn’t flaunted — it enabled him to serve, not to posture.

1967, during the Vietnam War, McCain was shot down over Hanoi and captured. Despite severe injuries and brutal torture, he refused an early release because he insisted that fellow prisoners captured before him be freed first — a testament to his honor and loyalty. He endured over five years of imprisonment in harrowing conditions before his release in 1973.